


Russia

by Laeana



Series: ∂ead нearts [6]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Absence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Murder, Complicated Relationships, Coronation, Disappointment, Falling In Love, Friendship, Getting Back Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Guards, Hopeful Ending, Kings & Queens, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Moral Dilemmas, Regret, Reunions, Searching for Happiness, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: It's been long, he thinks, it's been so long since he last saw him.So long that everything ended, so long that his coronation happened, that he left the shadows and stopped to be invisible.He misses him, that's sure, it's a wound that doesn't leave, a loneliness with which he grew older a bit.Pierre looks at him with big eyes, asking him to tell their story.So,He starts ...
Relationships: Valtteri Bottas/Daniil Kvyat
Series: ∂ead нearts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889596
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Russia

To confide in a feeling is ... particular. Daniil has never been able to do it with a lot of people but, well, it's Pierre, huh. It’s Pierre and he cannot not speak to him about it after all that this one entrusted to him.

He walks in the gardens, feels the cool wind caressing his skin. A wind he got used to, familiar. He walked alongside the Frenchman, walked a little bit together, still can't believe the funny relationship they formed.

A certain friendship, hoisted to the top of a mountain of spades and a society of hypocrites.

But here they are talking, face to face, he always wondered what their meeting would be like and that’s the result. A sincerity he had never thought he saw.

He wonders what Finland is like this month, this time of year.

He always lets himself fall a little deeper, in a spiral of thoughts, of memories. Like salt on a wound that never healed. So it hurts but he lives with the pain, he has almost learned to appreciate it, like an old companion on a journey that never ends.

— It happened before the war, before almost all conflicts. My father was still in power.

It's a quieter evening, an evening that seems to inspire confidence in the light and warmth of the flames of the fireplace beside them.

— A man came into our service to be part of the personal guard. We were five years apart, he was from Finland. He had always been a soldier, here and there, his track record was quite impressive and he had a way of behaving and speaking which my father immediately liked.

His gaze drifts over the fire and he watches its dance. Dangerous but still so close. This takes him back years and he goes back to it with a certain pleasure, knowing well how it all ends.

He was a little naïve from the start, it wasn't necessarily his fault. Valtteri had a certain charisma, always knew when to speak and when not to. Placed the right words at the right time.

His father assigned him to guard him.

He did not understand why but did not protest. He had already entered politics at the time and was past the age of protest. He did the right things, that's all that mattered.

From then on, Valtteri had followed him carefully, like his shadow. They had come to terms with each other, partners in silence. He is relentless, he does not want to fail in his tasks, even if it harms him.

He falls ill one day. Of course, playing vigilante in the dead of winter is a bad idea, but he's never really been affected by the weather. He is stuck in the secondary palace, unable to join his father for the evening held at their residence.

He tries to get up, quickly disillusioned when his sight blurs. Three steps and he falls to the ground, out of breath. Hot. Feels like he’s suffocating in here.

— I heard a noise. What's going on, my Prince, you-

His guard breaks into his tirade when he finds him on the ground. A cool hand is resting on his forehead and he has an almost grateful sigh.

— You're hot.

— Stop talking to me so politely ... you know I don't like that ...

The older man shooks his head sharply before putting him back to bed, muttering something about his stubbornness and the temperature outside.

— I have to go to the meeting. I have to-

— Go nowhere. You need care. I'll take care of you, send a servant to tell your father. Rest.

Daniil tries to get up, to protest, but another dizziness seizes him and he falls back, short of breath.

— Damn it.

—Don’t move ! I come back quickly, so don't move.

His interlocutor leaves the room quickly and he sighs. He closes his eyes, fighting against the pain that paralyzes his whole body and the feeling of being at his worst. He hates being sick. In those moments, he remembers his mother, her sweet scent, how she took care of him as a child and that makes him bitter.

A wet cloth is placed on his forehead. A strange mixture faces him and he grimaces just catching a glimpse of its scent.

— Drink, you'll feel better afterwards.

He does. Swallows everything in one go. Regrets it very quickly. Gosh he regrets. It tastes terrible. He remains impassive but a shiver runs through him all the same.

— See, it wasn't difficult.

— Are you going to stay with me ?

He has trouble finding the other man's blue gaze. Keeping his eyes open seems like a huge effort. He grabs his partner's hand and this one doesn't even protest.

— Yes of course. I'll be there when you wake up.

— Talk to me ... tell me about yourself.

Valtteri hums something softly. His agreement. He always has stories to tell, so many stories, about trips he has done, places he has visited, people he has known. They are only five years apart but he still feels like a bigger difference. Opposite life experiences.

— During one of my travels in Germany, I was able to see ...

He lets the words flow. It soothes him. The guard's voice is deep but pleasant, the tone he needs. He feels calm, he feels good. He goes a little deeper.

When he wakes up, every time he wakes up for the next few hours, the Finnish has never left, always there. To watch over him. Eventually his fever subsided enough for him to be able to return to the main palace at least.

With an almost natural, spontaneous gesture, he grabs the hand that is still in his and brings it to his lips.

— Thanks, Val.

The older one turns his head away. Daniil takes his time to eat something and change his clothes before getting into a coach that takes him home. Valtteri is at his side, but silence reigns.

His father is a bit harsh, he hopes to be pardoned for too many reproaches. Sanctions. He runs a hand through his hair. The entrance to the palace almost castigates him. He's still sick, just a little better. Enough to get up and take responsibility, get back to work.

— Go back to your room.

It's a whisper from Valtteri and he frowns.

— Sorry ?

— I'm going to go see your father, I'm going to talk to him. You're still not fit so go to bed.

— I'm not going to make you do my job for me. I-

— Don't protest.

The Finn glances from left to right, there is no one in the hallway, before putting his lips on his with force. This gesture only lasts a few seconds. Daniil is totally stunned.

— Go to your room.

Valtteri enters the throne room. On autopilot, he climbs the stairs and passes through several doors before collapsing onto his bed.

He who has never had serious relationships, has never had real love interests of the kind. He feels his cheeks burn.

— Wow, it's pretty explosive as a start. I guess you get it on with him pretty quickly ?

He returns to the present and above all returns to the room where he is located. Pierre has bright eyes. He shakes his head with a sort of understated amusement.

— You'd believe.

— Long term then ?

He has a small sneer.

— Long-standing relationship, built on long-standing trust.

— Yeah right, right.

— I think you understand what I mean.

The Frenchman nods and they exchange a look. His voice rises again, calmly. Does not need force to be heard in the quiet room. His memories still come to the surface.

They took a while, they didn't talk about the kiss again. It was like some shameful secret that they could keep to themselves, that they didn't need in their routine. Step by step.

And yet this unsaid weighs heavily because he has no idea what his partner may have said to his father to make him leave him be so easily. He had time to heal quietly, without being worried.

— You're still not going to tell me what you did ?

He worries about it. Several times. It comes to him like sudden thoughts, worries that he can't allay, he doesn't think he deserves too much of this world, of people. He wants to take care of them, to be fair.

He has always been a go-anywhere, he has always been to blend in, to hunker down, to be an observer, to see where to turn and where to aim precisely to achieve his goals. An outstanding strategist.

His father knows his vision of what he calls "the political chessboard".

— Don't worry about it.

— How can I not worry about it ? You may have put yourself in danger for me.

— Isn't that my role ? To avoid dangers, to be your shield ?

Daniil raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. He snatches the grass beside him in a twitch. A moment of rest during which he never rests. He mumbles :

— I thought we broke all those labels.

— That won't prevent me from protecting you if I want to.

A half-tone confession. A word that does not seem to agree with the others. This tone that seems distorted.

— If you want to ? So ... why do you want to defend me so much ?

Valtteri rolls his eyes. They are silent for a moment. He can't find the answers he needs so badly. It almost frustrates him. He knows full well that he has to respect the actions of the older man and if he doesn't want to talk about it, then he shouldn’t have to talk about it.

— Forget it, I'm probably-

— I care about you.

It's scathing, and where he expects to see his partner being confident, fully assuming his words, he finds him burying his face in his hands. More vulnerable than he has ever seen.

— Damn, this is bad. I should never have accepted that, it was such a bad idea.

— That ? What are you talking about ?

— I really didn't think I would fall in love with you.

He raises an eyebrow, trying not to take it the wrong way.

— If that reassures you, I didn't think I would fall in love with you either.

He retrieves the book he had taken outside with him and stands up. It is said in such a way. He feels that the discussion will lead to nothing, that it is better for him to go and calm down elsewhere.

— Wait, Dany, it wasn't against you !

— Oh really ? And how am I supposed to feel about it ?

The Finn follows him closely and finally stops him by grabbing his arm, forcing him to turn towards him. Looks that intersect. Blue against brown.

— I didn't even know you, I had no idea what you looked like or how you were, you were always discreet. You did the right thing but never exposed yourself.

He can't tear himself away from those eyes.

— I had an idea of your accuracy but I would never have seen you that way. Wanting to try your hand at the arts, at music, to surpass yourself more and more, even when you are sick, almost unable to get up. You have a strong attachment for this country, for these people, you are a beautiful person.

Daniil just shakes his head, scrupulously denying these comments that have just been made. He doesn't agree, he never agreed.

— You idealize me too much.

— You devalue yourself too much.

Always so opposed. They never agree on this kind of subject. It's dangerous. There is a feeling heavy in his stomach. But maybe, maybe ... his partner feels the same.

Their lips still land on each other’s. Mouth to mouth, breathing the same air. Tongue with tongue. He's never been kissed in such a way.

— Damn, I love you, Dany. I am sorry.

— I don’t understand ...

Valtteri rests his forehead against his shoulder. He's bigger, that's an advantage for once. He hugs the other man against him. Who seems guilty, full of regrets. Is that right ?

— I love you too, Val.

It is something to finally say it. Almost moving. They kiss again, he never knows who takes the first step, maybe they both do. He leads his companion to his room. To get rid of superfluous layers of clothing.

Discover each other more intimately, closer than they have ever been. He smiles slightly, kissing the older man's neck even as this one’s hands bustle lower.

Too idyllic ? surely.

They lived happy days regardless, days of never worrying too much about what was going on around them, of wondering what was going to happen to their relationship, because how could they talk about it and going public was not even an option.

Despite everything they wanted, what they could say, they remained a prince and a palace guard.

Sleeping in the same bed also means they have less freedom. Whether or not they are more aware of the presence of the other, of his comings and goings. He's on his side of the bed, keeping his eyes open in the dark as he feels the bed move.

Valtteri fidgets gently, seems to be checking to see if he doesn't wake him, before getting up and slipping into the hallway. Something is wrong and he doesn’t have to be a diviner to notice it.

He waits a bit, gets up in turn and follows in his lover's footsteps. He follows him, keeping a safe distance each time. He knows the palace by heart, he knows where to hide and how not to be noticed. It’s his daily life.

He stops behind a wall as the Finn joins a man under the arch. He can't see who he is. He just breathes calmly, careful never to be too loud, he needs not to be heard and waits. Waits until they start their discussion.

— Did you make the necessary locations ?

— Yes, the king does not suspect a thing. We are not going to speed up the preparations, we risk derailing the plan.

— I know. You have found yourself very useful, the least we can do is take our troubles patiently.

He is frozen. He finds it hard to realize what he has just heard. A spy ? The words spoken weeks ago suddenly take on meaning, but he's not sure he's loving that. In truth, he tries to keep an analytical mind but is destroyed.

— I heard some rumors. About you and the prince.

— I would not let my work be affected, I take all the responsibility.

— Well. He is an essential element. If we finally manage to kill the king ...

Daniil bites his lip heavily, until he feels a ferrous taste fill his mouth. Some blood. He was never sure that his father was the best leader in the world but from there to think that a conspiracy is brewing behind his back. From there to think that his companion is part of it.

He counts his steps silently and returns to his room quickly. He lies down on the bed, turns around but keeps his eyes open for a moment. He tries to digest what he has perceived. He tries to put things into perspective.

But he doesn't even know if there is something to relativize in this situation. He just feels very bad, his heart on the edge of his lips. Treason. This word spins around in his head. Treason. Bile in his stomach, bitter.

Was he part of the plan too ? To seduce the crown prince, at the right time. He feels the bed bend and feels Valtteri take his place. Like nothing ever happened.

He waits several minutes, remains frozen. This discomfort does not leave his chest, it is just suffocating. He stirs a little. Tears might come to him but he doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want to cry because he's better than that.

He is better than to mourn his disappointments in love, his misfortunes, because he remains an invisible unconditional, a person who prefers to blend in with the crowd, many of whom do not exist and whose efforts are useless because after all, no matter how strong the disappointment is, he-

He still loves him.

He flutters his eyes. Wet. He gets up and leaves the room quickly. He needs fresh air. He takes the opposite path to that followed by his lover, arrives in the second part of the palace. It's a little cold.

But he's used to the cold. Just as he is used to silence and solitude. These are components of his life that have never left him.

Breath in. Breath out. 

He drops into the grass. From here he can make out a few lilies and orchids. He always loved flowers and ...

— Dany ? Why did you get out of bed like that ? Is everything fine ?

A warm tone, he can hardly believe he had the exact same man in front of him a few moments earlier. Tears roll down his cheeks now, his voice is hoarse.

— Go away.

Daniil wipes his eyes painfully. The sobs in his throat. So hard to just talk.

— I know everything, I don't even have the strength to pretend that ... to pretend that I didn't see that. You betrayed me ...

Silence falls again. He lets himself slide a little more against the ground. Not caring about sounding pathetic. He really thought it was going to work.

— It's wrong.

A whisper.

— It's not you that I betrayed, I could never have done that. I love you. I love you, and I wished not to do it because it complicates everything but I do not regret anything. I don't regret you.

— But you're a traitor, Val. How am I supposed to understand that ? Tell me, I'm lost ...

His companion places a hand on his cheek and tries to kiss him but he turns away, continuing to cry silently.

— I really thought I could be happy.

— You don't have to think about it, Dany, please. I love you, I don't want to lose you.

— I want you to disappear from my sight.

Valtteri shakes his head almost frantically and wraps an arm around him. The despair. They are both desperate.

— Please, Daniil, please. Forgive me, try to understand. You love me and I love you, it's not a mistake.

— But how can I trust you again ?

They can't find an answer. They watch the sunrise in front of them with a sort of shock, they seek denial. They were happier before, when they didn't know anything. They were happier ...

— An assassination attempt against your father ? Was ... was he a good person ? Did you love him ?

In Pierre’s eyes there is such a need to know. To know things that escaped him. He tilts his head slightly, not refusing to talk about it. These are things he hasn't really told anyone about anymore.

— We always love a member of our family, our father, no matter how badly he did us. Beyond who he is, there is what he means to you. A symbol, a father is a loved one who loves us. And if he is hard on us, it is because he wants our good.

— Really ? I didn't ... have known mine enough. But that doesn't feel right to me.

— That's a very bad way to think. It is destructive, it is wanting to close our eyes on the harm done to us. It's always very hard to deny a member of your family, to see their bad sides.

It seems that, in the eyes of the Frenchman, he sees an agreement. As if he knew similar situations.

— To answer your question, yes I loved him. Even if he didn't always deserve it. He was ... overwhelmed by his condition, he was doing his best, but he got lost along the way. A good man is not always a good king.

In the end, Daniil weighed the pros and cons and decided not to stop his lover. They are right in a way and, god damn it, as much as it pains him to admit it, the kingdom needs to take another turn.

Then the countdown scrolls discreetly. He spends his nights with his love; they talk less, they cannot extricate themselves from the situation and even less from what is happening to them. This tragedy.

He can't help but blame him, he can't help but not be able to totally forgive him. And that hurts. It hurts them.

The days go by, he smiles at his father, as if nothing had happened, as if he didn't know about anything. And, later, leaning over his coffin, he may blame himself for being too cowardly and feel guilty that he lost his life through his fault.

There are no tears to shed today.

Then it happens.

It's like waking up from a dream that's gone on for too long, so long taken for reality and suddenly poof, everything flies away and he gazes at ruins.

There are cries, the castle is besieged by men, women, people in black. They don't really take it out on people. They are almost waiting. A diversion. A loud cry is heard as he is in the backyard of the palace and he knows.

His father is dead.

He visualizes the scene without even having seen it. He imagines him fallen to the ground, his throat slit, bathed in his own blood, or then suffocated, thrown back on his seat, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, a porcelain cup crushed to the ground. Poison.

A thousand and one ways in which his life could have ended and which he sees pass before his eyes in a few moments, because he has already thought about it. He wallows in his own emotions.

Cries all around but especially orders to withdraw. He is in a part that has not even been visited. He thinks he's left alone, until a familiar figure emerges, running outside the castle from behind.

Valtteri.

They exchange a look. Is that how they say goodbye then ? A fugitive. All these moments spent together go by and by and by and that is ultimately the most painful. His grief. He has certainly lost a father, but above all he loses his love.

He remains dignified, wanting to give him a beautiful image before leaving, draped in his dark blue suit. Standing. He nods his head softly. He walks towards the alcove as soon as he hears the guards.

— I think they went that way !

He indicates the interior of the castle.

When he turns around, the Finn is no longer there. He drops to his knees, because there is no one left to see him, so he can do whatever he wants.

He can cry. Real sobs escape him. Daniil feels like he's lost everything. He won a kingdom, congratulations, he is now king. But what would he want to exchange his title for peaceful days. Against this sweet bubble in which he lived.

Against Valtteri.

He can no longer claim to be invisible, he can no longer be at peace. He must now act, remember that they could come and cut off his head if he failed. He almost laughs thinking of his lover coming back to kill him.

A laugh among the many salty pearls flowing down his cheeks. It's always so easy to think about it, to confront it. It's always so easy to want to forget.

— Oh ...

It was not the easiest separation he has known. Pierre sighs. The atmosphere has cooled. He had warned him that it was not a happy story.

— But are you married now ? You have an heir ?

— I don't love her ... I would never love her like him and she knows it. She's a good friend, she knows it. That was years ago already ...

— Do you miss him ?

It does not take him a long time to find an answer to this question. The void widened in him, forming a hole.

— You don’t have an idea.

The prince in front of him has a thin, fleeting smile and he wonders what that means. He thanks his presence which spares him a little solitude. He enjoys spending time with him, they have something in common.

Something that neither of them prefers to describe but that they suspect. He does not regret for a second having invited him to his country. He does not regret his company.

Pierre ends up leaving and although he is a little sad he shows nothing. Everyone takes their place as they should have been. He stays so far from others ... he is a bit alone, it is marked deep in his heart.

He finds his routine, managing business, making his family happy. He really loves them. This is not what he would have liked, he never wanted to be pushed into a box and go back in, as everyone asked. But he no longer had much hope.

And then one day he receives a letter again. Hand reach. From his French sidekick. A small smile comes to his lips as he undoes the paper. It has been several times since they exchanged too many, few words. He just knows that everything has returned to its place, that he and Charles are together, finally.

He frowns because brevity is in order. Barely a few words were left inside. He read those eagerly.

To thank you for everything you've done for me, I found him.

— Pierre.

Daniil shakes his head, not understanding right away. After all, there are not ten ways to understand the content of this letter, to interpret it.

Until the messenger raises his head slightly and that he finds himself face to face with two almost translucent blue eyes.

He brings both hands to his mouth, dropping the paper he was holding too tight, even crumpling it.

— Val ?

— Hi, Dany.

He thinks he can die now. Or have a heart attack. Both seem like good options to him. He can't believe it. The first sentence that comes out of his mouth is not overflowing with humor, as he is almost shaking with emotion.

— So what ? Have I become too bad a leader for you to come back ?

— Hm ... maybe ?

He's not as bitter as he used to be, his anger and grief have had time to dry up. He felt a deep desire to see him again, he still feels so in love as he studies the features of his guest, a little older, but definitely the same.

He reaches out to touch his cheek, hesitant. With the fear that it is only a mirage and that he may disappear. The older one just puts his own hand on his, pressing the touch down.

— I came home.

This unusual emotion which disturbs these azure irises, an emotion which reminds him of the one felt the first night when they declared their feelings. Joy, pleasure, infinite sadness and above all, above all, wonder.

He leans down and puts his lips to his. It was a gesture that he had missed, no kiss has ever felt the same. In view of the gestures of his companion, he missed him just as much.

They pull back breathlessly, look at each other eye to eye, wondering who will take the first step, who will say the first words, who will cry first, who will let their nerves crack. They are so hesitant, like teenagers. They are both afraid. They love each other.

— I wanted to go home earlier, to go home so much earlier, but I never could. There was always something stopping me. I wanted to see you again, I'm sorry ...

— Where have you been ?

— I returned to Finland. I entered under the protection of the king, I made actions ... which earned me his recognition and I found myself at his court.

It's almost impressive and at the same time he's just so relieved that he's had a great life, not a miserable one.

— I was surprised when ... Kimi ... Kimi sent me a letter. It came from the French prince who begged me ... to come back to your side. Who told me how much you missed my presence.

Pierre ? His eyes widen. What this boy did for him. A token of recognition ? Friendship ? He has never regretted knowing him and it is not today that his regrets will begin. He swears to return a letter to him as quickly as possible.

— And you just came back to me ?

— I had been away too long. Ah and I also have this. This comes from the King of Italy and the King of the Netherlands.

A smile lands on his lips when he sees the wedding invitation. Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo. A chance to see Pierre again, a chance to see many people again.

— It's good news ?

— Looks like I'll have to find you a better costume.

Faced with the questioning look that Valtteri gives him, Daniil is content to kiss him again, keeping his partner against him. Just wishing that the moment would freeze, that they would never be apart again.

The letter he just read looks at him out of the corner of his eye, almost a little mockery.

He remembers years ago, an unmissable event he went to. Few of whom must remember his presence. Lots of blue with white and orange. Meaningful colors. Flowers all around him as he watches two men bond, through a destiny, while they are all still far from the path they are going to travel, that he is not even King, that many have not yet ascended to the throne. While some are still naive, almost innocent, do not know the pain of betrayal and the appeasement of forgiveness, of redemption. Where everything is still at the presages, at the beginning.

Everything that ends in the same place where it all began.

**Author's Note:**

> Bit less than 5000 words I offer you in one go, I didn't have the heart to cut this part, I was afraid that it waste the effect. True roller coaster that end on a character that have been evocated sooner but never truly detailled.
> 
> If you ever wonder, the last scene is, yes, the wedding of Daniel and Max, the first one, the one that has, somehow, started the story. A wedding where he has been even if he has been discreet and didn't stay long.
> 
> I tried to slip a bit more of complexity to the characters, I wanted a story that was coherent and with a minimum of drama, that was worth to be read. A story of mixed destinies. I hope this serie pleased you and that this story itself pleased you. 
> 
> And it's with this eighteenth chapter that ends officialy the Dead Hearts serie, coming back on the relationship it started.


End file.
